


Something You Can't See

by laurelofthestory



Category: Warframe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Non-Chronological, One Shot Collection, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurelofthestory/pseuds/laurelofthestory
Summary: There is a world the Operator lives in that he knows he will never understand. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to try.(After all, they are as much a victim of the Orokin as he is--but unlike him, they've done nothing to deserve it.)Spoilers for all story quests & Cephalon Fragments





	1. After the War

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I told myself I was going to wait until I had more scenes to post this. To wait until I could do this in a proper chronological order, and could edit everything so it was consistent and made sense. But of course, I am Boo Boo The Fool, have no impulse control, don't understand the word 'consistency' anyway, and we need more Ordis.
> 
> Basically, this is a set of oneshots regarding Ordis' thoughts on the various exploits of the Tenno Operator, and a study of why he's...well, him. These are definitely not chronological, and timeline point and tone may vary wildly. The Operator is meant to be generic enough to be anyone's character; they won't be named and will be referred to as they/them, but if more personality is needed, they'll probably take after my own Operator (Kepler) or those of my friends.
> 
> It's really important that you've seen or at least know the contents of the Cephalon Fragments before reading, as these oneshots will try to give more insight onto those as well (and knowing those will also help with what potential triggers to expect.)
> 
> Also if you want to see something specific please let me know because I nourish myself off of attention like some weird word gremlin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Operator asks an important question, and Ordis wonders just what he's missed. [War Within]

To say the day had been stressful for everyone involved would be putting it lightly. The moment the Operator had entered the Kuva Fortress' depths, Ordis had lost all ability to contact them remotely, only able to communicate to them inside their Somatic Link.

And then, well...then a lot of things had happened in a very short period of time that Ordis didn't fully understand, culminating in them _ disappearing clean off the ship_. But it’s over, now; the Operator is safe, and as far as he’s concerned, that’s all that matters.

It’s possible to encounter a lot of empty space in the Origin System when not using Void translations or solar rails to get around. Ordis has dimmed the interior lights and put the orbiter on a course through the quiet, dark emptiness between Uranus and Neptune, cloaking the ship so it won’t be disturbed by wayward drones. The Operator, for their part, is curled up near the navigation console in a pile of traditional Ostron quilts, clutching a Kubrodon floof and looking for all the world like an exhausted child.

The Lotus hasn’t tried to contact them again since they’d returned from investigating that Old War beacon on Earth, and this bothers Ordis more than he thinks it rightly should. Clearly,_ something _ had happened that had prompted the Operator to be quite upset at her, though he supposes anyone would be rattled after undergoing a Transference overload of that magnitude. Privately, he’s tried to ping the Lotus’ comms channel himself, to ask her what _happened, _but he's received no answer.

And so, it looks as if he's just going to have to stay in the dark about the whole thing. He doesn’t mind that, really, not knowing _why_ the Operator is hurting and not being able to help. He _ doesn’t. _

He tries to distract himself by working on fixing the Somatic Link--even if they somehow don’t need it anymore, it’s at least something for him to do, and he can’t stand just _ doing nothing. _

They drift through silent space for some time, before his auditory receptors faintly pick up their quiet voice.

“...Hey, Ordis?” 

He shifts his attention back to the orbiter’s bow. They’re peeking out from under the blanket nest, holding the floof to their chest and squinting at some point in the ceiling as if trying to decide what exactly _to_ look at.

“Yes, Operator?”

“Can I...ask you kind of a weird question?”

“Of course, Operator.”

They hesitate, hugging the floof tighter and chewing on their lower lip. Their gaze drops, as if they’ve given up trying to figure out how to look at him--or perhaps they don’t want to.

“...What would happen if I...wasn’t the Operator anymore?”

Ordis runs the statement over a couple of times, trying to parse it before giving up. “Whatever do you mean?”

They shift around so they’re lying on their chest, chin propped up in one hand while their other arm holds the floof, staring out the front window. “If I couldn’t do Transference anymore. Couldn’t control the Warframes. What would happen?”

The way they say it makes it sound like it’s a heavy, loaded question, as if they’re afraid of the answer, though Ordis can’t fathom why. To him, the answer is fairly simple, especially after all this time. It’s just a matter of putting it into words.

“You would still be the Operator, wouldn’t you? I imagine your role in this system would change greatly but...I would still serve you. Transference or no, that will never change.”

And he means it, beyond the precepts that _ tell _him to mean it--whatever false love had been instilled in him upon his creation had become a genuine care, a genuine _protectiveness _he doesn't quite understand.

_ (He’d never trusted Void devilry, really. He only trusted what one could do with one’s own body and the tools it could manipulate, with a sharp mind guiding it. _

_ People often spoke around him as if he could not hear, because, after all, what would the dumb beast do with their secrets? He heard, on occasion, hushed and anxious whispers of the ‘Ten-Zero children’, the Orokin’s newest project, child soldiers touched with great power from the Void. They were spoken of with fear, sometimes contempt, sometimes outright hatred, and though he didn’t trust their Void magics, he still pitied them to an extent--they were only children, they had not chosen this path. _

_ But he didn’t pay them much mind beyond that, because he had much more to worry about. He took care of himself and his own, above all else. _

_ He hadn’t expected one of those blessed, cursed children to fall into that category.) _

The Operator presses their lips together and glances off to the side. “So you wouldn’t...try to kill me, or anything?”

Ordis is startled out of his thoughts, taken aback. “Why would I do such a thing? Operator, did something happen?”

They laugh, but even he can tell there’s no humor in it as they lay themself back down again. “Ask me what _ didn’t _happen.”

“...Well?”

They shut their eyes and roll over onto their side, wrapping both arms around the floof and going silent. A few minutes pass, and it becomes quite clear that they don’t intend to answer.

Ordis can’t force himself to go back to repairing the Link right away, just watching them lie there. _ Something _ had clearly happened in that single moment of Transference overload, when their brain activity had gone haywire and then flatlined, something that had made them _ different _\--he’d seen the new powers they’d suddenly possessed, and even now he can pick up the Void energy flickering wildly about them like miniature solar flares, if not in proper scans, then in the patterns with which it causes disturbance in their suit's vitals sensors and nearby equipment. 

He knows that whatever happened in that second had been very important, but no one will tell him what that _thing_ was. No one would tell him what the Operator had found in the Kuva Fortress, the results of the search for Teshin, the source of these new powers, why the Lotus was ‘making excuses’ for them. 

He knows _why, _of course. It’s all a part of that world the Tenno live in, that the Lotus understands but he will never be able to. A language he can’t parse, a block of corrupted code, something invisible and incomprehensible. Of course they’d leave him out of the loop, because there’s no way he could help, no way he would even grasp a fraction of what it all meant.

And...he’s fine with that. He has to be fine with that. He has to be content to stay outside of that, because that is not his place.

And yet, he looks down at that _ child _ lying troubled in the frontal compartment, pretending to sleep even if their vitals give them away, and he _wishes_ desperately in a way he knows he shouldn’t that he could help. Even if he can’t understand, he still wishes he could do _ something. _

Maybe then, they’d trust him. Maybe then, he could help make whatever they’d seen in the surge less frightening.

But he can’t. So he goes back to repairing the Somatic Link, and doing whatever little he can.


	2. Star-Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Operator makes a terrible miscalculation, and Ordis realizes it might be a good thing that he thinks too much, given the alternative. [The Sacrifice]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The problem with the whole Vitruvian Ordis thing is that it happens, and it's unreasonably creepy, but then it's just over and no one actually brings it up again or explains it ever. And if you know me, you know I can't stand that, so I went a little bit overboard.

“Please, Ordis?”

“You _ had _to say please, didn’t you.”

Ordis knows they’re desperate, and to be honest, he can’t blame them--_he’s _ pretty desperate as well. Since the Lotus’ sudden departure, he’s been running blind, compiling her mission directives while simultaneously trying to figure out how to help the Operator. And he knows he’s been failing in that at every turn; they don’t tell him outright, but he can tell from the way they stop what they’re doing and put their hand to their Warframe’s forehead as if he’s giving them a headache. He doesn’t know _ how _ to do better, either, how to actually _ help, _because he knows that no matter how much he tries he’s never going to be able to do enough, will never be able to replace her--

Curse a Cephalon’s processing speed. He thinks too much, far more than any Orokin machine should. A failure in every regard, he supposes.

And now the Operator has made their way out of the Transference Room to take the Vitruvian from their Warframe, staring up at the ceiling with pleading eyes. He knows he doesn’t really have a choice--the little device is the only potential lead they have on Ballas and the Lotus’ whereabouts, and he wants to find her almost as badly as they do. Maybe the strange warframe really _ will _know how to find Ballas once they built it.

But he doesn’t like it, not one bit. Truthfully, Ordis isn’t even entirely sure what his issue is with the Vitruvian. He’s Orokin technology, and it’s Orokin technology, so there shouldn’t be any compatibility issues aside from the vast difference in manufacturing dates. He doesn’t know why the idea of having a bit of old Orokin tech--_that had belonged to Ballas_\--installed into him disgusts him so much, but he has a terrible feeling about it, and the thought of linking to it gives him the rough Cephalon equivalent of really wanting to gag.

Ordis _ hates _Ballas, he's sure of that much. But...it’s just because he took the Lotus away and hurt the Operator. Nothing more. That’s what he’s had to keep telling himself this whole time, and for right now, he’s got more important things to do than question his own excuses and the state of his fractured mind.

...Like getting on with it and allowing the Operator to plug in the Vitruvian. Ordis is just stalling now and he knows it.

He reluctantly flicks on a light indicating a port he’d forgotten he had behind the Arsenal. The Operator’s sigh of relief and grateful smile up at the ceiling is a bit heartening at least, as they hurry forward and kneel to insert the device.

Ordis starts talking to himself as they work; because he’s nervous and wants to distract himself, or because he just needs to stop thinking so fast, he’s not sure. “Ordis, you _ need _ to learn how to stand up for yourself. To say no, and _ mean _ it, even if it is the _ operator--_”

Even as he’s executing his speech routines, he can feel the data transfer initiating in the background. Before he’s even through speaking, he knows the Operator has made a terrible miscalculation.

It isn’t that the Vitruvian is incompatible with him--quite the opposite, in fact. It’s _too _ compatible, flooding his systems with more data than they can handle and exponentially increasing his processing load, to the point where his core rapidly begins to overheat beyond acceptable levels. It feels like something is simultaneously threatening to explode out of him and trying to crush him into a pulp; the ship lists and the lights flicker wildly as the device tries its best to _ overwrite him entirely_, and all before he’s even managed to finish his rambling sentence.

Ordis realizes in the span of a millisecond that he’s doomed. Either the Vitruvian’s data will erase him, or the processor overload will cause a core overheat and meltdown, taking out the orbiter’s core systems with it. This isn’t like Suda’s datascape--the Operator can’t come to his rescue now. There’s no way out.

_ And it’s all because of Ballas. It figures. _

He supposes he can’t blame the Operator for it, not really. They’re desperate, and if he were in their situation, he’s sure he’d do anything it took. He just hopes that, if he lets the Vitruvian quietly take over, it really will help them find her. That they’ll be okay without him.

_ (He wanted so badly to give up. _

_ There was every impetus for him to give up. After all, he was dying--they gave him a year at most before his poison blood claimed him outright, if something else didn’t do it first. _

_ But he wouldn’t go down without fighting; he’d sworn it all his life. And now, he was going to have to find a way to live up to that oath. _

_ He wasn’t ready to abandon them. Not without trying to fix what he’d done, the way he did best.) _

No.

No, he can’t think like that. He can’t just _ give up_\--he’s all the Operator has left with the Lotus gone. He can’t abandon them like the Lotus did. He _ has _to be there for them.

Bless a Cephalon’s processing speed. As a millisecond stretches on and on, he has time to push aside the spiraling panic and formulate a plan, a loophole, the way Ordis does best.

He decides that he’s going to let the Vitruvian overwrite him--_strategically. _ It’ll be dangerous, unprecedented, and likely thoroughly unpleasant, but he’s going to archive his own personality precepts to lighten the processing load and force a hard reboot into emergency mode. Ballas’ little devil device can do what it will, then, but _ he _ should be safe hidden in his own data archives--and, more importantly, _ the Operator _ should be safe.

...He hopes. There’s no real way for him to know if it’ll work as he frantically executes the haphazard code, but it’s the best chance he’s got to protect the Operator.

_ Operator, forgive me… _

Both the lights and Ordis’ consciousness go dark as the reboot kicks in.

For a while, there’s nothing but darkness. A post-reboot diagnostic scan that seems to stretch on and on, but one that reveals that all his systems are online and functional. 

No. Better than functional. The data transfer was successful. He’s been _ improved. _

He feels...calm. Certain. He is a finely-tuned piece of Orokin machinery crafted by the Golden Lords themselves. He is one of their creations, and as such, he is perfect, as they are. All is as it should be.

The lights in the main Orbiter compartment come back on. The Operator is sprawled out against the Transference Room’s closed door in a heap of limbs, likely a result of the ship’s pitching, but their vital signs are all nominal, aside from a slightly elevated heart rate. They are unharmed. They will be able to complete the task. It is a simple one, even for a child.

Crafting a Warframe would take three cycles, normally. Or at least, it would have before now; now he is unburdened and pure. He can do it much faster than that. He is _ better, _now.

“I have been upgraded, Star-Child.” Free of his verbal glitching, of his anger. The idols who had created him would not have allowed such a flaw. “Your Warframe blueprint now has the required data. Check Foundry.”

He sees the Operator look up at the ceiling, mouth hanging slightly open and eyes wide. They look...stricken. Why? There is nothing wrong with him. He is perfect. All is well.

* * *

None of what happens next makes any sense to him, and that’s more annoying than anything. Warframes are proxies; even as the Operator unveils more of the Vitruvian’s information, that fact should still stand. Just because they used to be people didn’t mean the Operator should be able to _ reverse Transference _like this. That shouldn’t be possible.

But as they delve into the strange Warframe’s memories, they come out unharmed, if rattled, and it’s not his job to worry. He does wish they weren’t quite so _ dense_, from making the warframe he’d expressly told them not to in the first place to chasing after it in some fruitless attempt to search for the Lotus. The Lotus is a Sentient. The Lotus is not their mother. Why are they searching.

They should really be more like him. 

And yet...there’s something inside of him screaming that this isn’t what he wants, a small voice that grows ever louder as he continues to repair system damage. Why would he have this flaw? Why can’t he get rid of it? It’s terribly human, whatever it is, and it’s begging him to do needless things such as _ worry over the Operator’s mental health, _ because it _ knows what it’s like to hurt inside so badly you can’t stand it. _ Saying things like the Operator is _ just a child _ who _ didn’t ask for this. _

They were a soldier for the Orokin.

_ They were better than the Orokin. _

Eventually, he can’t tolerate it any more. He watches passively as they look over the new Vitruvian data and he prepares himself to reboot again. Does this mean he’s going to start doing things like _ thinking _ and _ feeling _again? Useless functions he shouldn’t have in the first place?

“Star-Child, repairs continue. Allow me to test vestigial precepts for a moment. Like ‘caring’.”

It’ll just be a moment, he tells himself. Just to shut the voice in his head up. The lights shut off again as he restarts.

A moment of silence, and then--then it’s like he’s dragging himself through one of the Earth's thick swamps, finding it impossible to move with the Vitruvian’s mass of data pressing in on him. His core heats up as he fights it, and his post-reboot diagnostic comes back with errors.

_ Screw the diagnostics._

He remembers everything, and he’s _ revolted _ as all of the emotions he’d carefully built up the ability to feel over centuries come crashing back down on him. Yes, his personality precepts may be a mess of corrupted code and scrambled data, but if _ that’s _ what he’s like without them? Totally unfeeling, uncaring about the Operator’s well-being? _ Sounding just like an Orokin _with all that ‘perfection’ nonsense?

He remembers feeling like that before, when he was still new. That whenever he’d get too upset, _ something _ hidden in his programming would kick in, and whatever he was feeling would slip out of his mind like water. Over time, whatever program or precept that was had grown weaker, and he’d finally gotten the chance to _ hate _ it, and it had felt like freedom, like _ himself. _ Even if he’s calmed down over the centuries, he _ can’t _ force himself to _ not care. Nothing _can.

But is _ that _what he is, underneath everything? The thought...alarms him as he tries to sweep aside the Vitruvian’s useless data, but the Operator didn’t seem too bothered. Of course they wouldn’t, they had other things to worry about--finding the Lotus, and dealing with whatever it was they were seeing in Umbra’s memories that he didn’t know about.

Whatever it is they’ve been seeing in there, though, Ordis knows it has to be pretty bad to leave them so rattled. Their well-being has to come before his own worry, and so he shoves it back into a dusty corner of his datascape as he speaks.

“Operator, you need to stop this!”

They’re in their Arsenal, messing with their loadout, but quickly jolt upright and glance around at his voice.

“You could suffer permanent harm from Umbra’s memory. What if you internalize all this?”

The Warframe shakes its head, rolling its shoulders. Ordis flicks his attention to the Somatic Link camera, seeing them open their eyes, lips pursed into a worried frown.

He wants to think there’s some relief in those eyes.

“I feel like...he’s leading me to the truth, about Ballas...Right now, it’s all I have to go on.”

Of course, they’re not going to tell him what they’ve seen, and Ordis isn’t entirely sure he wants to know. And now isn’t the time to discuss his..._indisposition. _Now is the time to continue pursuing Umbra, to seek the truth.

The corrupted part of him hopes they find Ballas and run him through. For what he did to the Lotus, of course.

Ordis is surprised by how much he’s missed that brokenness.

_(As much as the situation torments him, he's glad to know that, regardless of what Ballas does to him, knowingly or not, he can't be taken out so easily.)_


	3. Pick A God and Spray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ordis receives a strange transmission; the Operator investigates, and gets the chance to act like a child should, even in the midst of the system's chaos. [Dog Days Tactical Alert]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of these oneshots are going to be angsty or serious, yes. But I really, really wanted to do something for this alert because I thought it was hilarious, we didn't get to see Ordis reacting to it at all, and I think this nicely shows off their friendship. Also, my friend dared me to put it here.

Ordis...isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s looking at, if he’s being honest.

Well, he does know _what_ he’s looking at; an intercepted broadcast from none other than Kela de Thaym, tyrannical overlord of the Rathuum arenas on Sedna and one of the Grineer’s most bloodthirsty and sadistic generals. But the enclosed transmission itself is...rather unconventional.

Contrary to popular belief, Ordis doesn’t  _ normally  _ read the Operator’s mail--rather, he dedicates a small amount of background processing power to skimming incoming messages and filtering out attempted cyber-attacks, unwanted fanmail, and a frankly obscene amount of Corpus spam (some of which makes it very clear that the Tenno being children is still a well-kept secret to the masses). And, yes, perhaps some part of him does hope a message comes in for  _ him  _ someday, but other cephalons aren’t limited to communicating to each other with something as primitive as inbox messages, and none of them would send anything to him anyway.

But the title attached to the broadcast immediately catches his interest, and as he watches it through for the third time, he quietly saves it to his own databanks for safekeeping before he speaks.

“Operator? Messages have arrived for you. I think you should see this.”

The Operator is in their personal quarters as themself, playing with their Kubrow, when his voice comes through the speakers. They glance up at the ceiling with a raised eyebrow.

“Is it the Stalker again?”

“What?”

“‘Your actions have consequences’?”

“Er...no. It’s--well--” Ordis pauses for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain what he’s just seen before giving up. “--It’s from Kela de Thaym. You should really see for yourself.”

“Kela? What does she want?” The Operator shakes their head, dismissing their own question before standing from the couch and giving the Kubrow a final pat on the head. They head out of their personal quarters, jogging up the ramp into the frontal compartment and leaning on the codex console expectantly. Ordis wordlessly queues up the transmission on the screen.

Kela’s boisterous voice is the only sound in the cockpit for several moments. The broadcast starts out as a fairly standard announcement of a special Rathuum (something about acid throwers), but quickly takes a...rather unexpected turn halfway in.

Kela de Thaym, crooked judge of Rathuum’s accused, has become, to put it bluntly, _high off her ass_ due to a gas leak.

There’s a long stretch of silence after the transmission cuts off. He can’t quite read the Operator’s facial expression as they stare at where Kela’s face had been. They slowly raise their hand to cover their mouth, and he checks their vital readouts to find an elevated heart rate and--oh, no, his cameras are picking up the reflection of tears in their eyes.

“Operator! Are you all right?! I am sorry, I should--”

The Operator makes a noise like a cough, and leans forward, putting all their weight on the codex console. And then…

They burst out into raucous laughter.

Ordis is taken aback--he’s seen them laugh before, with clanmates or friends, but it’s still a rare thing, and his faulty memory banks can’t recall the last time he’s gotten to witness them laughing  _ this  _ hard. They practically double over on the console, smacking a hand into it repeatedly.

Even in his confusion, the sound warms his nonexistent heart .

“I--no, Ordis, it’s fine--” The Operator wheezes and gasps for breath, wiping their eyes with a hand and standing upright. They take a deep breath, trying to calm themself, but they promptly let out a hiccup and are consumed by another fit of giggles before they can speak. “I just--this is _amazing_. Can you save that?”

“I have already done so.” And now for the second part. “There were coordinates attached to the message, Operator. For Earth.”

“Wait, she’s  _ actually  _ doing it?”

“There is no way to know. Proceed with caution, this could be some sort of trap.”

“I--” Another burst of laughter. They cover their mouth and lean over again briefly, hopping up and down a couple of times as if to get excess energy out. “I’ll be careful, but I  _ really  _ doubt it.”

“Take your Warframe, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I’m not dumb.” They quickly head back down the ramp towards the Arsenal, right past their highly confused Kubrow, and start scrolling through their Warframes and weapons on the pop-up screen. “What do you think I’m even gonna  _ need _ , like--if there really are acid throwers, corrosive...?”

They continue talking to themself as they decide on a loadout, Ordis watching all the while. They seem practically  _ giddy  _ to check this out, a sort of excitement he hasn’t seen in them in a very long time. Things have been difficult and strained recently, what with the Lotus’s departure and Alad V’s recent activity on Jupiter. He’s noticed the Operator has been almost...robotic, going through the motions of mission after mission.

He knows a thing or two about trying to pretend you’re all right when you’re not.

But now, it’s like the problems of the Origin system have been momentarily forgotten. They snicker to themself as they disappear in a flicker of Void not-light, Transferring into their Warframe and promptly posing.

“What do you think?”

It’s their Hydroid Prime, painted in  _ garishly  _ bright blues and greens. They've foregone a melee weapon, the Ignis Wraith strapped to their back and--ironically enough--the Kraken sidearm on their hip.

The neon colors almost overload his visual sensors. He _tries _to say they look fine, as he usually does, but instead, he blurts out a glitching response before he can think. “ **My eyes are bleeding.** ”

They cross their arms, and he gets the sense that they’re pouting. “You don’t have eyes.”

“I am sorry, that--that slipped out. What Ordis meant to say was...why the colors?”

“A lot of swimsuits way back were colored like this, and besides, if this _is _serious and I can piss off Kela with it, it’s a win-win.”

Ordis stifles the urge to laugh. He wishes they wouldn’t play with fire so much, but he can  _ hear  _ their cheeky smile. “Well--as I said, be careful.” A pause. “...May...Ordis watch? I am...curious as to how this will play out.”

“Sure. And if Kela sends any more transmissions, record them. I want blackmail.”

Ordis simulates a heaving sigh. “ _ Operator… _ ”

“You saved the first one before I even told you to.”

“...Ordis declines to comment. Coordinates marked on Navigation.”

The Operator laughs again, more understated this time. But it’s wonderful to hear, after recent events, and Ordis does hope this isn’t a trap. 

They certainly deserve a break.

* * *

It isn’t a trap, and it’s infinitely better than Ordis was expecting.

It turns out that the Operator didn’t need to worry about weapons, as they’re confiscated when they land in the nearby docking bay by a very confused Executioner whose name Ordis doesn’t recall, who's wearing arm floaties and a floppy straw hat. The Executioners rarely speak to the accused, but this one does, admitting to the Operator that the whole thing is very confusing and slightly embarrassing for all the Executioners involved, but it’s at least better than getting sent out to be slaughtered by Tenno en masse. When asked about the hat, the Executioner sheepishly admits that Kela had insisted on the accessory because it looked “cute”.

They’re promptly issued a ‘Soaktron’ and an inner tube, grouped up with a few other Tenno who’d come to investigate the broadcast, and released onto the beach.

Ordis has been granted permission to link up to the Warframe’s neuroptics to see what the Operator does, and watches as absolute, sopping wet chaos immediately takes hold. The goal of the game seems to be similar to standard Rathuum, except instead of violent murder, the Tenno and Executioners are trying to knock each other down with copious amounts of water from the Soaktrons. Kela’s inebriation was also definitely not faked, as she sends transmissions throughout the match with a similar degree of outrageousness to her first. Ordis dutifully records them, and privately wonders if he may be able to get an anonymous line through to the Worm Queen with these.

At first, the Operator stays wary, but as the gleeful aquatic massacre continues, he can see their expression in the Somatic Link change from a muted interest to a wide grin. They throw themself into the ridiculousness of it all, ruthless with their Soaktron and even using what look to be particularly bouncy floofs made in the image of Grineer rollers as distractions. All the while, they’re laughing with their fellow Tenno, and even most of the Executioners seem to be having a good time from the brief glimpses he gets of their faces.

The whole thing is so profoundly bizarre; the wicked Grineer and the feared Tenno engaging in a silly, childish water fight while wearing pool floats on some unknown beach covered in floofs, while an indisposed Kela de Thaym screeches out awful puns and squeals about how adorable her Executioners are in the background. There’s no real logic in it, and Ordis knows he probably isn’t supposed to find it as funny as he does--it isn’t as if he’s  _ meant  _ to have a humor precept, and the other cephalons he knows would likely quarantine him from the Weave for this sort of behavior.

But  _ damn it _ , in that terribly human way of his, he can’t bring himself to care. The Operator  _ needed  _ something like this, something so preposterous that the system’s war and the looming Sentient threat could be momentarily forgotten.

They actually get to act like the child they are, for once. He’s always found it despicable that they never got the chance.

_ (Even he refused to force children to walk the clan’s bloody path; not if that was not their choice when they came of age, not if battle hadn’t run through their veins from the very beginning. The ones who chose not to fight were not true members, but they were supported regardless, and helped how they could.) _

Of course, the Tenno win the match by a landslide. His Operator is still practically bouncing on their feet even as they return to the landing craft dock and step into the boarding socket. As soon as the landing craft is in the air, they start talking a mile a minute, a thousand repetitions of  _ did you see that  _ and  _ can you believe Kela said  _ and happy confusion he responds to as best he can.

As the landing craft docks with the Orbiter proper, Ordis receives another ping from the inbox. He quickly skims the message while the Operator walks their Warframe back towards the Arsenal.

“Operator, Kela has sent you your winnings, but would like to have another match.”

“I can do that  _ again? _ ”

“It seems so. Do you accept?"

“Of  _ course _ .”

Ordis tries to stop himself, he really does, but it’s hopeless.

“Well, then.  _ Water  _ you waiting for?”

Oh, that was dreadful. Both he and the Operator groan, but he does hear the Operator stifle a chuckle.

He’s heard them laugh a lot today, but if it means they get to stay this happy at least for a little while, he doesn't think he'll get tired of it anytime soon.


	4. Non Disclosure Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lotus asks Ordis a strange question, then makes sure he can't tell anyone else the answer. [Pre-Second Dream]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...it's been a while! This is a short update, because this was written ages ago, and I was originally intending for it to be tacked onto the rest of what I wrote for Second Dream, but after looking at it again I realized the Second Dream chapter is going to be really long already, this can probably stand on its own as a prelude, and wanted to post SOMETHING. The actual Second Dream chapter will probably not be the next one, though, since Railjack stuff is more current. Same thing'll probably happen to Octavia's Anthem because it's...a lot and I have to rewrite half of it.
> 
> Also, no, I don't hate the Lotus (though she's on thin freaking ice at the moment), I was just wondering how it was Ordis hadn't told the Operator about the whole "powered by a forsaken child" thing before this.

“Ship Cephalon Ordis. I must speak with you.”

Ordis is  _ genuinely startled  _ by the Lotus’s sudden appearance--mainly because she didn’t just send him a request to transmit, but  _ accepted  _ it before he could even notice it, without any input on his part. It’s rather like he’s been walked in on, even if all he was doing was preparing to send out some proxies to clean up the excess infestation the Helminth doesn’t need (which, in Ordis’s opinion, is  _ all _ of it, but at the very least it doesn’t have to grow on the  _ outside  _ of the ship, that’s his _ body _ and he has an  _ appearance  _ to maintain, thank you very much.)

He tries to stay cordial, regardless. “Er--yes, Lotus? What is it?” 

“You are not currently transmitting to the Tenno?”

“No, they’ve gone to help another operative on that Corpus ship at V Prime, they’ll be a while-- _ why is this so important? _ ”

Ordis isn’t sure what he thinks of the Lotus, if he’s being honest. Yes, she woke the Operator and led them to him, and for that he’s eternally grateful. And yes, he knows she provides mission support for the Operator, and they’ve become quite attached to her as a result. But something about her is... _ unsettling;  _ a face he almost remembers, but  _ wrong,  _ somehow. Even with that helmet of hers covering her eyes, he still feels like she’s staring directly into his nonexistent soul, and it’s  _ thoroughly  _ disconcerting.

“I am aware of where they are,” she replies, her voice as level as ever, “It is imperative that I am speaking to you privately.”

“Well you are, so  **get on with it.** ” He can’t bring himself to be sorry for the way his pitch drops and an irritated tone creeps into his voice, even if he didn’t intend it.

A moment passes before the Lotus continues, her head tilted slightly as if she’s looking at something past her viewframe. Ordis has never been good at reading faces, and hers is perpetually blank and still in a way he isn’t sure human faces are supposed to be.

“...You are a Series-2 Cephalon. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know your primary creator?”

“Executor Ballas.” He’s not sure why the name still feels like venom to him--he owes Ballas his existence, there’s no need for him to be so rude just because he hasn’t  _ seen  _ the man in a thousand years.

The Lotus’s left cheekbone twitches. “Then you were created  _ before _ the Tenno rebellion.”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“I understand your memory-banks are damaged. Are you aware of the true source of the Warframes’ power?”

That throws him. A source? Other than the Warframe itself? He hasn’t thought about it, not in a long time, but the words stir something in him, information he  _ knows _ , but hasn’t dragged into the front of his consciousness for some time. No, no, not the Warframe itself, the Warframe is cultivated Helminth, that’s how they’re built. The Tenno links to the Warframe. The Warframe moves because of the Tenno.

“Who  _ are  _ the Tenno?” It’s as if she’s read his mind, and it startles him again. Her tone has gained a new urgency.

“How--how are you  _ doing  _ that?”

“You knew this.  _ Remember. _ ”

Ordis doesn’t really like to remember the past. He doesn’t like to  _ think  _ too hard, because an Orokin machine isn’t  _ supposed  _ to think, and there was a time not long ago where thinking  _ hurt _ . Even now, something warns him against going deeper into his archives, trying to retrieve the data. Warning him to be  _ careful  _ about what he dredges up.

But...she’s right. Ordis knows who the Tenno were--and are. Not what became of them, in the end, but he remembers data Ballas gave him on the Operator he was made to protect. A blurred face, a flowering pod like the chair in the back room, pieces fitting back together in his mind. 

He’s not sure how long it takes for him to answer, and when he does, it’s slow, incredulous. “They...They’re  _ children. _ ”

“Yes.” The Lotus responds with a matter-of-fact tone; he’s given her the answer she expected. “More than human, but children nonetheless.”

“I...I remember...they were sent somewhere. ...Lua? The Earth’s moon? Why can’t I find it on navigation? It was  _ definitely  _ there when I was created...”

“That isn’t important.” Another pause. When she speaks again, it’s almost pained. “Ordis. You would put the safety of the Tenno above your own, if it was asked of you.”

It’s not a question, but the answer is certain anyway. “Of course.”

“Then you understand that what I am about to do is for the Tenno’s safety.”

“What--?”

Before Ordis can even get the question out, a small, cloaked machine his scanners had dismissed as space debris suddenly thrusts forward, latching onto the outside of the Orbiter with something like  _ tendrils  _ that  sink deep into the metal. The drone emits a shrill note and a massive pulse of energy that shoots through meters of steel as if it were open air, plunging directly into his core.

A failsafe triggers; his consciousness goes dark as he shuts down, and the device easily hacks into his systems with his firewalls disabled.

When Ordis wakes, there’s no transmission log, no error report, no sign that anything had happened besides a bit of missing time, something he’s used to experiencing by this point.

And...there’s a missing piece in his own internal schematics, systems that he can’t account for. A room, just behind the Arsenal, with a chair in it. Why would such a thing be installed in him? Had the Grineer’s sabotage also removed this data? There’s a lot he doesn’t remember from the time he spent out of commission, a lot of information he’s sure  _ exists,  _ but isn’t where it should be--corrupted memories, before and after, like cracks shooting across a pane of glass from a single, central point he assumes the Grineer caused.

It’s rather alarming that he can’t remember the reasoning behind a piece of  _ himself,  _ however. Just how much  _ has  _ he decayed? The thought worries him quite a bit, but like many of the things he worries about, he files it away as something he'll deal with later, if necessary. For now, he has to send the landing craft to go pick up the Operator’s Warframe--

No, that isn’t right. He has to go pick up the  _ Operator. _

They are, after all, one and the same.


End file.
